


A Ritual for Two

by Salamander



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Ritual Sex, old married evil husbands, sex as a contract
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamander/pseuds/Salamander
Summary: It's not every year you have a 25th wedding anniversary, and that calls for something special.





	A Ritual for Two

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Jon said tartly, “that ring on your finger.”

Elias raised one eyebrow, but didn’t look up from his paperwork. 

Jon sat opposite him, one leg bouncing up and down with nervous energy. If he cared to, Elias could peel apart his mind and see just what was bothering him, but that would be a monumental waste of energy for the payoff. And besides, it was a lot more fun to goad Jon.

“Don’t give me that eyebrow. I’ve also noticed the bouquet of flowers in the corner of your office too, and I can only imagine that they’re related somehow.”

“How exactly is this related to your performance review?”

Jon spluttered. “What do you mean, performance review? It’s not due until next month!”

Elias looked up, then, over the top of his reading glasses. “Oh, is it? Well perhaps we can pull it forward a little,” he said, sharp as glass.

“Ah- alright, I see your point. Very well then. Is there anything else?”

“No, that will be all. Don’t forget to get the team to fill in their incident report forms before the end of the week.”

“Of course.” Jon stood up and left in a huff, a cloud of annoyance following him out of the office.

Elias shuffled his paperwork and then sat back in his chair, removing his glasses and placing them carefully on the desk. He turned in his chair to rest his gaze on the bouquet that had arrived that morning. 

Anemone, aster, bird of paradise, lavender heather and finally, as ever, chrysanthemum. Once upon a time, Elias had to look up the meaning of each flower, taste each one as he Knew it, let it settle into his head and his heart. The anemone was a fairly new addition:  _ anticipation _ , and Elias allowed himself a smile for that one, especially since this time Peter had paired it with the bird of paradise, anticipation doubled. Twenty five years together and that tang of anticipation never wavered.

He Knew precisely what it would be like for Peter, too. Out there on whatever ocean he was travelling, wrapped in the embrace of the Lonely, his solitude a soft bed of heather upon which he slept. While Elias continued his business as usual, not Knowing him but knowing him. Letting his consciousness wash against that vast infinite gap where Peter should be, with only their next meeting to look forward to.

Never let it be said that Elias was a sentimental man. He missed Peter, certainly, but their meetings were regular and he could always count on them, and there was a specific kind of pleasure in knowing that they were scheduled to perfection. 

This time, though? This was special. Twenty-fifth anniversary special. And so, there had been a card with the bouquet. Sleek and palest pewter, it contained the name of a place, presumably a restaurant, and a time, written in a simple font. 

Dans le Noir. Of course, it would be somewhere like that. Elias had heard of this type of restaurant: eating in the dark, served by visually impaired waiters, and considering his allegiance it hadn’t exactly appealed to him.

Peter, though? He could see precisely why it would appeal to  _ him _ . And it was a concession and a half, at that. Nowhere near his own domain - pretty much the opposite of it, really. Trapped in darkness for the length of a meal, not even a soul’s vision to take advantage of either. 

Elias shuddered deliciously. And just think of what he could ask for in return, oh yes.

\- - -

The restaurant itself was unassuming from the outside, and would be even moreso if it wasn’t for Peter, standing sidelong to where Elias approached, checking his watch with a wry little smile on his face.

“You’re late,” he said as Elias touched him on the elbow. 

“Barely a minute, and hello to you too.”

“Hm.” Peter tipped a look at Elias, then leaned in and grazed his jaw with cool lips. “You understood the message, then?”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot. Besides, how could you even misunderstand a place, time and date?”

“Well, sometimes things may need to be spelled out. I trust you have no objections to this place?” 

Elias looked levelly at Peter, a smile playing on his lips. “The same way that I trust you have no objections to the payment required in kind.”

“Of course not. That hasn’t changed in twenty five years, Elias. I’d hardly renege on our contract now.” Peter smiled right back, sharp as the horizon. He bent into Elias’ touch, though, and they sauntered through the restaurant door arm in arm.

It was as dark as advertised, and Elias closed his eyes, inhaling the scents of food and mystery as a waiter approached them. If he stretched out his consciousness, Elias could Know the waiter with but a thought, but their agreement, long held, stayed him, and he allowed them both to be led to a table with nary an exploration of the patrons or staff.

“I trust that you’re aware of our menus, gentlemen?” The waiter seated them both with a touch, the chairs barely making a sound as though muffled against it. 

Elias smiled, amused. All the more towards the aesthetic, he supposed, and God forbid the rough scrape of a chair leg break the immersion. “Yes, we’re aware, thank you.”

“We’ll begin now,” Peter replied, directing his words at the waiter and Elias both. His words almost echoed around the room, and even though Elias could sense people around them, perhaps even hear them if he strained, it seemed as though Peter had applied a touch of his powers to the two of them, and they might as well have been in a bubble.

And begin they did. A tasting menu, apparently, although Elias would be pushed to say what exactly each tiny course consisted of. Finding the food with fingers or cutlery was a challenge in and of itself, but he somehow managed without making too much of a mess.

The first course was a sort of starter, and so ripe with sauce it burst on his tongue with a riot of flavour the second he put it into his mouth. A bubble of fruit with the strength of a ripened, veiny cheese beneath it. Elias breathed out in pleasure as he swallowed, licking his lips rather more lasciviously than he normally would; spurred on entirely by the fact that Peter could not see him.

“How does it feel to not be watched?” Peter asked, voice light and airy as if he was asking about the weather. “Must be quite alien for you, no?”

“Oh, it’s quite tolerable.” Elias smiled slow and wide; licked his fingers with thorough care. “Although I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would, I must admit. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that later on I’ll be doing precisely that, that’s sustaining me.” He lifted his leg and caressed the inner line of Peter’s, opposite, with his foot. 

“Oh yes, I am looking forward to it too. Isn’t it strange how we’ve both become so… enamoured of what should really be our opposites?” Peter reached across the table and caressed the back of Elias’ hand, his aim unerring. 

“You’re cheating.”

“Yes well, my domain, remember? It might be dark and lonely for you, but I  _ live _ here,” Peter said with relish. “Ah, the second course.”

The waiter swiftly removed their dirty plates and set down another two, along with a second glass of wine, Elias assumed. His fingers ghosted across the table and he touched the plate in front of him, intrigued. “This one smells interesting,” he commented, then hissed as his fingers came into contact with the hot food. 

“A fork, maybe?” Peter’s tone was full of laughter.

Elias lifted his fingers and licked the sauce from them thoughtfully. “Lasagne?” A forkful confirmed it, even though it was on a whole different level to any lasagne he’d ever eaten before. The meat was as tender as though it’d been slow cooked, and the sauce was so rich that he was glad the course was only a taster. The companion wine was a deep, full red, and he drank it with relish. 

“I wouldn’t have thought lasagne would be on a menu as fancy as this.”

“No, it seems more like the type of thing you’d get on your ship,” Elias replied with a smirk. “Or wait, maybe that’s a little too complicated for you sailors. Maybe it should be more like gruel and hard tack?”

Peter laughed, and Elias could feel his whole body shaking against the table. “No one eats that shit any more, Elias. Ships have  _ standards _ now.”

“Not what I’ve heard from some people,” Elias replied, gesturing towards Peter with his fork. “Unless you call cannibalism standards, anyway.”

“Well, it’s  _ standard  _ for the Flesh, isn’t it.”

“Technicalities.” The third course appeared; this time a small section of steak atop what Elias imagined was an artfully sculpted pile of mashed potato. His fork pierced the meat without any issues at all, and it was so tender and juicy that he couldn’t help but make a low, pleased moan. The mash was seasoned with the perfect amount of salt, pepper, and a herb he couldn’t quite identify, but by the time he’d finished it he was ready to have at least three more plates just of the steak and potatoes.

He just about had time to finish his wine when the plate and glass were whisked away and replaced with another - the fourth course.

The air nearly chilled in front of Elias, and a shiver went down his back. He could tell that it wasn’t Peter turning up his powers, but rather something directly from the food, with a strange airiness to it. “Is this something from the Vast?” he said with a chuckle. 

Peter snorted and made a little gesture with his hand that Elias could almost  _ see  _ he knew it so well. The air around Elias squeezed him, this time, with the cold knowledge that he was completely alone. 

The darkness pressed in on him, and he settled both palms on the table to ground himself. The table was slick with something, but his senses refused to work, and Elias had an iron grip on his Beholding powers, so as to not renege on their agreement. A touch of the Lonely was a fair price to pay, and frankly, he was almost getting used to it - not that he’d ever say as much to Peter.

Though he couldn’t sense any of it in the moment, the intensity of Peter’s enjoyment and, well, arousal, after this trick was well worth the discomfort - and that thought allowed Elias to  _ really  _ give himself over to the Lonely.

_ The food in front of him seems to suck the warmth from his body and the speed of it takes Elias’ breath away. His ears feel as though they are stuffed with cotton wool, and if he doesn’t know better he’d have thought he’s having a panic attack. He takes deep breaths and places both palms flat on the table, grounding himself. _

_ And then the table disappears, and he is truly alone. The floor falls away from beneath him, and all around him is black and desolate. He can hear his own heartbeat through the entirety of his body; his own breaths quickening from the fear of it; and then, finally, that jolly, punchable voice he knows so well. _

_ “Ah, Elias, I do hope you’re managing in here  _ **_all alone_ ** _.” Peter’s words drip honey and wine, and Elias can’t help but turn to face him, a flower towards the single point of light in this void of isolation. _

_ “Peter,” he murmurs, tongue thick against his lips, arms outstretched for an anchor. He is so alone, so desperately isolate, that even the smallest touch of company would bring him back to life. _

_ “I’m here,” Peter says with a smile, though Elias cannot see it. He takes Elias by the hand and leads him out of the blackness and back into the tame, mundane dark of the restaurant, and they are seated once more, and the waiter is placing a glass of something down next to the plate which still seeps cold as though they were never gone. _

Elias tightened his grip around Peter’s fingers across the table - a warning for later - then turned his attention to the fourth course. It was ice cream, as he’d suspected, but the cold and the slight metallic taste of it spoke of liquid nitrogen, a strange counterpoint to the heat of wasabi that flooded his taste buds.

The wine was a crisp, cool and fruity white, which took the edge off the wasabi quite deliciously, and Elias breathed a sigh of relief as he finished the scant mouthful.

The final course was cheese, but a kind that Elias hadn’t tasted before. Some strong, heated goat’s type, he suspected, with what tasted like veins of mould tracing through like the most delicious corruption. The wine was a sweet dessert kind, and so heavy and sticky that it finished the meal to perfection.

Peter sat back and sighed with pleasure, and Elias found himself doing the same. Their waiter brought out two espressos of the darkest roast, and as they finished up, Elias smiled to himself over his tiny cup.

“I do hope that you’re prepared to return the payment in kind,” he said, voice a dark purr of promise. 

He could almost taste the smile Peter flashed back at him. 

“Oh, naturally. I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed our meal.” Peter took Elias’ hand once more and they stood. There was no need to pay the waiter, as it had been taken care of ahead of time - ever the prepared, Peter Lukas.

“Shall we walk? Or would you prefer a quicker route?” Peter tucked Elias’ arm through his own and they exited the restaurant side by side.

“I think the walk will be lovely, after such an  _ interesting _ meal.”

\- - -

Elias’ flat was as austere as his demeanour and dress. Dark grey decorations and furniture, with white walls adorned only by spartan works of art. The place barely looked lived in, and that was just the way Elias liked it.

He took Peter’s greatcoat - a heavy, woollen thing in Navy blue - and hung it on the coat hook next to his own. “I trust you find it warm enough? I left the fire smouldering before leaving, so that we would have some warmth when we got back.”

Peter stretched like a cat and Elias took a moment to savour the way his muscles showed through the somewhat crumpled shirt he liked to wear. Not quite enough for the shirt to be too tight, but enough that it was obvious what kind of shape he was in.

Elias raised one eyebrow and looked Peter up and down once more. “You didn’t think to iron your clothes, I see.”

“Well, it’s no fun, Elias. Let’s face it, no one likes ironing.” Peter pulled down his sleeves, which had ridden up his arms when he stretched. “And anyway, I know just how much you like to see me all dishevelled.”

The eyebrow stayed raised, but Elias did crack a smile, albeit a lopsided one. “On the assumption that it reminds me of our meetings, I would imagine.” He reached out and took hold of the front of Peter’s shirt, tugging him in close. “You’d be correct in that.” He kissed Peter deeply, tasting all of him with all of his senses; taking the time to truly Know him. After Peter’s part of their bargain, he  _ needed _ this.

They broke apart, and it was Elias’ turn to look a little ruffled, breath coming in tiny pants and blood tingling through his body in anticipation of what was to come. He took Peter’s hand and led him to the small room next to his bedroom.

The door was locked, it’s key around Elias’ neck on a fine silver chain, engraved with the same eye symbol as the one which graced the lock. With a practised movement, Elias unlocked the door and took Peter inside.

The room was dark, but the light came on without needing a switch, attuned to movement as it was. The whole left wall was panelled with mirrors, no gaps between them at all, so they resembled a seamless wall of reflection with no break save for the large bed in the centre. There was no headboard, just mirrors alone.

Opposite, against the right wall, hunched a shrine of sorts. A portrait the size of a man graced the wall, a sullen, open eye painted over the top of whatever once lay beneath. Peter had never been able to tell what was underneath that dreadful eye, as the second his gaze was drawn to it, he was unable to look away. No matter where he looked in the room, that eye watched him.

Underneath the portrait there was a table; a tape recorder sat in the centre, flanked by candles which were melted down halfway. On one edge, there was an incense holder with a fresh stick standing upright, and then on the opposite edge there was a crown. The crown itself was as clean and bright as though it’d been freshly cast, although Peter knew that couldn’t be the case, as it’d sat there on that shrine for as long as they’d been together, and he was willing to bet that it’d been around for time immeasurable. 

It was set with chrysoberyls symmetrically around the base, and each one was cut in such a way to give it a pupil slit. The metal of the crown was drawn upwards in five places around the base, with the centre-most being the tallest of all. Though the metal itself seemed to be bright and new, there was a deepness to the sheen of it that suggested a blackness from within: it would be icy cold to the touch, Peter knew in his bones, and he suspected that he would not survive contact with it, should he ever be stupid enough to try it on.

But no, that dubious honour was reserved for Elias’ pet Archivist, and in that moment, Peter would much rather think about Elias himself than his staff.

With an eye on the mirrors, Elias kissed Peter deeply, one hand sliding down his back to cup his arse while the other fisted into his hair, holding him fast. It was but the work of a moment to turn them both to the right and push Peter down onto the bed, hard.

He followed, straddling him, watching the whole time. The mirrors afforded Elias an amazing view of the full length of Peter’s body as well as his own, and he felt himself harden in response. Elias ground his hips down against Peter’s, shuddering with pleasure at the friction and contact. It wasn’t enough.

“Take these off,” he said. It wasn’t a request. 

Peter obliged. He knew his station in this place, and it wasn’t one to be arguing with Elias. He lifted his hips and wriggled out of his trousers, Elias removing both of their shoes and then his own trousers. Peter’s shirt came next, then Elias’, and then they were both in nothing but their underwear. 

“These as well,” Elias said with a thin smile. “Come now, don’t make me mention every single thing you’re wearing. You’ll test my patience.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, but obeyed anyway, pulling off Elias’ underwear as well as his own and dropping them off the side of the bed with everything else. He shivered under Elias’ gaze, narrowed and intense now, as it stripped him bare of more than just his clothes.

Another of those smiles played across Elias’ lips, predatory and almost cruel, and Peter bucked his hips with a tight groan. That damned  _ expression  _ killed him every time; the way it hid an infinity of knowledge behind it; the way that Elias’ eyes went distant, as though he was looking  _ through  _ the mirrors behind Peter; the way that, even though they were connected by their very flesh, Elias remained as unreachable as the stars.

Elias bent and took another kiss from Peter, and then in a smooth movement, flipped him over so he was belly down on the bed. 

Peter grunted into the pillow - its case of the highest thread count cotton, in dark grey - and raised his arse and hips, leaning back onto his legs but with his face still against the bed. Just the way Elias liked him - Peter’s face hidden, but his body on show; presented for him like a conquest. 

Warm hands took hold of Peter’s hips, and he shivered as they ran down the length of his spine and then back up again, one thumb slipping between his cheeks and breaching him. He didn’t dare look up; just jerked from the sensation of it, sudden and hot, but gentle, somehow. Elias always did know just how to open him up, didn’t he?

Peter melted into the bed as Elias worked him open. Fingers followed his thumb, lube-coated this time, and when did he even get hold of lube anyway? 

_ And then Peter falls. _

_ Elias pushes inside him with a satisfied noise, watches in the mirror as his dick slowly disappears inside Peter. Watches as Peter buries his face deeper in the pillow, fingers tangling in the sheets and knuckles whitening as Elias fills him up completely. _

_ He rests there, on his knees, balls deep inside Peter. With his right hand, Elias caresses the curve of his spine again, admiring the faded tattoos down his ribs as he always does.”I cannot express just how much I enjoy  _ **_Watching_ ** _ you,” Elias murmurs, the words dripping from his lips like honey and poison. “Open yourself for me, come now.” _

_ Peter obeys; he relaxes, softens his mind, allows Elias entry in all ways, not just to his flesh.  _

_ Elias spreads out inside Peter’s mind as though he belongs there, as though he is born to it. He touches the memories Peter has stored up since their last meeting, running his fingers across them with delicate pleasure. “You always save them for me,” he breathes, and bends over Peter to cover his back like a twinned arch. “I love the way you do that.” He dips his fingers into these delicious, beautiful memories;  _

_ \- spread out on his bed, fingers deep inside himself as he thinks of Elias;  _

_ \- feeding an expendable member of his crew to the Lonely;  _

_ \- eating a soup that reminded him of one of their dates. _

_ While he is deep inside Peter’s mind, Elias is also watching the mirrors, always watching the mirrors. He sees every tiny movement, feels it too, against his chest, around his dick as Peter clenches for him, breathes and moans for him.  _

_ He is so vocal during sex, so guttural and raw and pure, like crystal cut too sharp or the very edge of Loneliness. As though he will never feel this again; as though Elias is his first and last memory before he goes wholeheartedly to his Master. _

_ Peter groans as Elias sets a punishing pace. He is languid and slow, but he fucks Peter hard and deep, watching as every inch of him is swallowed up and then revealed once more. It drives Peter into the bed, and he buries his face harder, breathing cotton and the clean scent of fresh bedding.  _

_ Elias takes a hand to the back of Peter’s hair and pulls his head up until he can see himself in those mirrors; until he can see Elias taking him, eyes misted over as he Watches, as he sieves through his memories like chaff in the wind. _

_ He meets Peter’s eyes, looking all the way into his soul as he comes without a sound; two sharp stutters of his hips and Elias is emptied out, so deep inside Peter’s arse and his mind that he struggles to resurface.  _

_ Peter does not come - he doesn’t allow himself that release. This ritual is about Elias, and so he clenches his stomach and his muscles around Elias’ dick and mercilessly holds himself together. _

_ Elias comes back into himself with a soft sigh. The light is drawn back into his eyes and Peter can finally look away from those mirrors.  _

“Enjoy yourself, did you?” Peter murmured, stretching underneath Elias. 

“You know I did,” Elias replied. He pulled out of Peter slowly, and the wet sound of his dick leaving Peter’s arse filled the too-quiet air of his shrine room. “I always do.” He smiled wide and slow, the smile of a cat finishing a stolen meal of raw, dripping meat.

“Mm,” Peter said, rolling over onto his back so he could look up at Elias. He folded both hands behind his head and settled back into the bed, eyes grazing the length of Elias’ body with a more truthful, human hunger. “All finished, then?”

Elias blinked and yawned languorously, then sat upright and pulled Peter with him. “Yes, quite. Shall we continue in the bedroom?”

Peter stood and stretched, his dick still hard and leaking a little. “Assuming you have the stamina, anyway.”

Elias looked down at Peter’s dick and reached out, tracing the length of it with his palm. It lay heavy and satisfying in his hand, and he gave it a little squeeze before sauntering off to his bedroom. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

With a snort, Peter followed, one eye on the way Elias’ hips moved as he walked, clearly putting on a show for him. And it was one that he appreciated, too, for what it was worth. The kind of image that would stay with Peter in his travels to come; that would keep him warm on the nights when he needed something a little  _ more _ .

He always appreciated Elias’ body. They may both have been older now, but perhaps something about their benefactors kept them a little younger than they should technically have been. Both their bodies fought the gravity of age, and as Peter gave a heated look over Elias’ back, the curve of his arse, the way his thighs and shoulders moved as he walked and the shift of muscle underneath, he felt his dick twitch in response.

Peter followed Elias at a steady pace, keeping his eagerness under a tight lock and key as he strode the distance down the corridor between rooms. 

He leaned against the doorframe of the master bedroom, watching as Elias crawled across his bed like a prowling cat then turned and lounged on his back, heavily lidded eyes on Peter, looking him up and down.

“Are you going to stay there all night?”

“Well aren’t you impatient. Isn’t that  _ my _ line?” Peter smirked lopsidedly. “You’ve already had your pleasure, remember.”

Elias snorted. “Alright, while I find my duty pleasurable, I’d hardly say it counts.” He reached out a languid arm and beckoned. “Come and give me something  _ real _ , Peter.” A note of something slid into his words, and Peter raised an eyebrow in return. 

“Oh, is that pleading?” He crossed the room in a few strides and then he was on the bed, laying down on his side next to Elias, who turned his head to regard him. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Hmm, well maybe it’s your lucky one.” Elias licked his lips, slow and teasing. 

Peter caressed Elias’ stomach, the dip of his hips, and then leaned over the top of him for a kiss. He made it deep and sensual, and so achingly slow that his skin flickered with goosebumps. It would be all too easy to let his lust take him over; to push Elias down and fuck him into the bed without remorse; to take all the pleasure for himself and himself alone. But that wasn’t what he wanted, was it?

No. After so long at sea, so long in the fog of his own benefactor, his soul singing with the loneliness of it all, Peter wanted- no, he  _ needed _ something more. And so he touched Elias as though gentling a horse, fingertips brushing his skin everywhere as he kissed him and kissed him and oh kissed him some more.

With a fluid motion, Peter pulled Elias onto his side and up against his belly so they were spooning. He only had to think of lubrication and Elias pointed over his shoulder at the table on Peter’s side of the bed. 

“Top drawer,” he purred, pressing himself back against Peter, rubbing against his dick with a little groan of want. “And take your time, I want you all night Peter.”

Peter’s mouth went dry at the thought, and he fumbled the lid of the lube bottle in his haste to get it open. He got it eventually, and he did indeed take his time, teasing Elias open and ready and so deliciously eager by the end that he was surprised Elias wasn’t just going to come there and then.

But no, he was too proud for that, and it hadn’t been so long since he’d already come after all. As much as they liked to think of themselves as eternally young and virile, even they needed a little recovery time, and Elias was no exception. But oh, he was so delightfully responsive, still sensitive from their earlier fuck, and enough that he hissed as Peter took hold of his dick and pumped it slowly. 

A little distraction worked wonders, and Elias groaned as Peter pushed his dick inside, to the balls, holding Elias in position with one hand spread possessively over his hip and the other circling his dick. 

Peter pressed his face to the back of Elias’ neck, breathing deep of the scent of his hair; filing the memory away for later. He moved against him, mouthing wet, breathy kisses against his neck, his shoulders, his spine; losing himself in the hot clench of Elias’ arse around his dick, the way Elias scrabbled for purchase, one hand in the covers and the other holding onto Peter’s hip like it was a lifeline.

Times like this, moulded together, the night slipped away. Peter found himself reaching his orgasm after what could have been ten minutes or ten hours, impossible to tell. The morning sun peeked through the dark curtains, just a crack, and Peter emptied himself inside Elias, eyes screwed up and face pressed into softly curling hair at the nape of Elias’ neck.

They laid there, breathing together and sticky as the room grew a little warmer from the sunrise. 

“It’s unlike you to not be gone before the sun,” Elias murmured, stretching back against Peter.

“Well, you did say you wanted me all night. I had to oblige.” Peter kissed the knob of Elias’ spine.

“I’m not complaining, although I expect you  _ will _ be gone before breakfast.”

Peter chuckled. “I suppose I  _ could  _ catch a bite before I head off. It’s not every year we have a big anniversary like this, is it.”

“There’ll be no catching,” Elias replied with a snort. “Fish for breakfast only if you’re a fisherman, and you’re just a Captain. We’ll be having French toast and poached eggs.”

“Throw some salmon on that and it could be Eggs Benedict.”

“Oh certainly, do you want to make a Hollandaise at this time of the morning? Because by all means, be my guest.” Elias pulled away from Peter and stood, stretching long and languid. The soft morning light grazed his figure deliciously, draping his muscles in a golden halo that would have looked angelic if they weren’t both physical incarnations of fear.

As it was, he just looked so intensely  _ Elias _ that Peter grinned and joined him, pressing him against the wall for a deep kiss. “I  _ will  _ make a Hollandaise,” he said as they broke apart. “But let’s get cleaned up first, I refuse to cook still covered in lube and come.”

“And there was me, thinking you had no standards. I approve.”

“Approve in the shower. Come on.” Peter took Elias’ hand and led him into the bathroom. He had to leave, and they both knew it, but there was no reason he couldn’t make the most of this memory, to tide him over until their next meeting. 


End file.
